


In the Dead of Night

by theicesculpture



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Attempt at Humor, Banter, Drinking, Flirting, FrostIron - Freeform, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Happy Ending, Humor, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light-Hearted, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Avengers (2012), Pre-Iron Man 1, Vampire Loki (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:56:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28112028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theicesculpture/pseuds/theicesculpture
Summary: The year is 1887 and Anthony Edward Stark is determined to get to know the guest neighbouring his hotel room. That guest also happens to be a vampire.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 38
Kudos: 94
Collections: Frostiron Holiday Exchange 2020





	In the Dead of Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Royalr5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royalr5/gifts).



> (This fic was part of an exchange and has been re-dated for author reveals). 
> 
> This was a gift for Royalr5 for this year's Frostiron Holiday Exchange. I saw that Vampire AU was listed as one of their prefered options and improvised from there and this weird fusion of a rom-com (of sorts) in a historic setting with vampires (well, one vampire) ended up being the result. 
> 
> This was very different in terms from my usual in terms of the mood and Loki characterisation and was the result of trying to find a happy medium somewhere between my usual slow burn angst and something light, therefore it became all about the humour and attempt at Victorian banter. I had a lot of fun with this as an experiment :D
> 
> Big thanks to [Halmanuut](https://www.instagram.com/halmanuut/) for beta reading this and helping me out trying to write the period-typical tone! (I've linked their art Instagram there in case anyone wants to check it out – lots of cool fandom stuff there)

During Anthony Edward Stark's temporary residence in the Astor House of New York, he has as of yet discovered three things:

  1. There have so far been two assassination attempts upon his person
  2. The man occupying the room next to his is the most intriguing person within the building
  3. The man from the room next to his is currently dragging a body through the hallway



Point three is, without a doubt, worthy of further investigation. Perhaps it is even the most exciting thing that has happened since his arrival, including both of the attempts upon his life noted in point one.

Since the beginning of his occupation of Room 187, Anthony has developed something akin to a fascination with his neighbour. Not once have they spoken, and yet it is his neighbour that occupies his mind more than his work. His neighbour keeps the most mysterious of schedules, only emerging from his room during the late hours of the night, and he does not appear to eat, never deigning to join the rest of the guests in the dining hall. Naturally, it helps maintain Anthony’s interest that his neighbour happens to be more than merely aesthetically pleasing – he is utterly _enticing_ , dark hair contrasting against delicate pale skin, high collars that emphasise the sharpness of his cheekbones, eyes seem to shift from an icy blue to a glittering green.

And so when Anthony opens his door, it is for two reasons: firstly, to verify whether his hypothesis about the sound of a body being dragged along the corridor is indeed correct – which, wonderfully, it is – and secondly to make an impression upon his neighbour in the most profound way he can.

Though it hardly seems the appropriate time to introduce himself following the usual customs, a person with better manners would announce their presence using another method, such as by clearing their throat or stepping into a person's line of sight. Anthony, however, feels no such need. Instead he walks into the centre of the corridor, and, with a large friendly smile, says, "Should I offer some assistance?"

His neighbour’s reaction is immediately gratifying: he freezes, almost dropping the legs belonging to the body of the corpse. The corpse, Anthony notes, looks disconcertingly familiar… His assassin, it has to be. Though he never managed to get more than a brief glimpse of the man’s face, the clothes are identical to the ones of Anthony’s memory and it is enough to almost cause him to freeze himself. 

He is uncertain as to whether or not he is disappointed by his neighbour’s reaction, or lack thereof. Anthony had hoped for… He isn’t certain precisely what it is that he had hoped for, only for it to be something _exciting_ , for something that could bring him a true thrill, for something that could make the monotony of this business trip more tolerable.

Finally, his neighbour responds. He nods stiffly and says, "That would be most appreciated."

He is British, then. Anthony can think of several jokes about the British and sees no reason to reign himself in. “I have heard stories of the British upper lip, though yours puts the stiffness of your friend here–” Anthony gestures to the corpse “–to shame.”

"And you," the man says, "are, evidently, most woefully American."

Anthony finds himself grinning once again. "My name is Anthony Stark." He would hold out a hand, but the man’s are currently occupied.

"Loki," the man says by way of introduction.

"What of your family name?"

The man's – Loki's – face darkens. "I do not have one."

Intriguing. 

"Are you not going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Perhaps another time," Loki responds smoothly. "May I suggest while we are no longer at risk of being found with the–” they break eye contact, which bothers Anthony for reasons that he cares not to examine “– _friend_ in question?"

Anthony lets out a sigh. "That would be the sensible option."

* * *

"My good friend..." Anthony begins once they have settled the corpse into the bathtub of Loki’s rooms.

" _Good friend?"_ Loki repeats incredulously. "You believe that to be so?"

"What else does disposing of a body make two strangers, if not good friends?"

For less than a fraction of a second, Loki’s lips twitch. "I suppose there may be some logic there."

"Of course there is. I am a logician, after all."

"Is that what you are?" Loki frowns at him. "I must admit, I am having, ah, difficulty placing your motives."

"I would hear your theories."

"Very well,” Loki begins, taking a moment to scrutinise Anthony from head to toe. “Judging by the quality of your dresswear, you must be a gentleman who possesses a great amount of wealth. Blackmail would be of little interest to you."

Anthony leans back against the bathroom sink and makes no effort to conceal any evidence of how much he is enjoying this that might be evident upon his face. "Continue."

"Given that you had to ask me to introduce you to our dearly departed friend, I must also assume that you are...” Loki pauses before correcting himself. “Well, _were_ unacquainted, so revenge must not be something you seek."

Incorrect, though his reasoning is sound. Anthony feels his grin growing wider. "What else?"

"I believe this to be a favour."

Anthony isn't certain what to make of that, so all he does is incline his head in a manner he hopes encourages Loki to speak further.

"You know what I am," Loki says. 

_I do?_ Anthony thinks. 

Loki shakes his head. "You believe that by assisting me in this matter, I will look favourably upon you."

Anthony blinks. Has he been that transparent in his preoccupations? Surely not, he thought himself better at this, a professional in masking his true appetites. He is not used to this. Loki is... remarkably forward. So much so that Anthony sees no need to mention that it serves him well if his would-be assassin is dead.

"You want," Loki says, his voice suddenly becoming deeper, textured like velvet, and Anthony swallows hard, "me to turn you."

"Into a delinquent?" Anthony retorts. "Far too late for that, I think."

Loki blinks at him, suddenly frozen in place, shock evident in his eyes.

Oh. 

_Oh._

_Oh no._

Anthony must have misjudged. That must not have been what Loki meant at all. He should have been more careful, should have considered the possibility that his admission might have been less than welcome, that he has now placed his public reputation as well as perhaps his freedom in the hands of a stranger.

"Ah," Loki finally manages. The silence that follows is excruciating. "I fear we both may be the victims of misinterpretation in this instance."

Is Loki merely being polite by not immediately banishing him from his room? Anthony cannot tell, but he cannot see any revulsion upon the man’s face either, only uncertainty. But if Loki _does_ threaten to report his suspicions of Anthony’s appetite, then at least Anthony has something he can point to that can equally incriminate Loki in return.

Anthony motions to the corpse. "A little inconsiderate of you to brand _us_ the victims in this scenario, do you not think?"

* * *

Three days pass, and Anthony has still not discovered what became of the corpse, nor what made the corpse become a corpse to begin with. He has seen nothing of Loki since their last encounter, despite making a point of repeatedly wandering the corridors and the rest of the hotel.

Loki has not responded to any of the knocks at his door. Anthony wonders how long that will last.

* * *

Boredom is an eternal plague; it's boredom which Anthony ascribes the blame to when he knocks – far too loudly to be considered politely – once again at Loki's door. 

"I have an important matter to discuss with you," Anthony says, loudly enough for the sound of his voice to pass through the wood. And then, now he knows he's got Loki's attention, he must have because the small sounds of footsteps have come to a sudden stop, he adds at a far more conventional volume, "I want you to join me for a drink."

* * *

Loki does not join him. After retiring, Anthony glimpses a shadow pass by the gap between his door and floor and marvels at how quietly Loki must be able to move.

Once enough time has passed that he will be able to follow without being seen, Anthony gets to his feet. Yet before so much as taking a step outside his room, Loki comes to a sudden halt ahead of him.

His hearing must be _astonishingly_ good.

"Is my smell truly so foul?" Anthony jests. 

Loki turns around sharply. "Perhaps I was wrong in assuming that you had little interest in blackmailing me. Perhaps the part I came to the incorrect conclusions about was the aspect of money. Had I known you were so desperate for attention–"

"You have wine on your face," Anthony interrupts, pointing at a spot next to Loki's upper lip. "Personally, I prefer scotch to red, but if you are in the mind for drinking you should have done the sensible thing and accepted my invitation."

"Of course," Loki answers flatly. "Accepting your invitation would be the only sensible course of action, given your sensible character."

"Oh, I see you are now referring to me as a character. Earlier this week you called me a gentleman. Should I take offence?"

"Would _you_ call yourself a gentleman?"

Anthony cannot help it – he laughs. "Not at all."

"Then I see no reason for consternation."

"I will agree with you on one condition."

"And what is that condition, Mr Stark?"

"You accept my invitation to drink a ridiculous amount of alcohol with me."

* * *

Loki, too, is a man of many conditions. He has agreed, but only if they would do so within the confines of Loki's suite rather than at an establishment.

Anthony tries not to make assumptions; he usually has to work hard to get into the bedrooms of the men he wants, it poses far more difficulties than the women whose company he also seeks. And yet Loki did not respond in a manner anyone could call favourably when Anthony had inadvertently revealed his delinquent tendencies – unless, of course, a lack of repulsion could be favourable in itself. 

Loki is unreadable. His posture is perfectly straight, his face perfectly devoid of feeling, and yet the only thing that gives him away is how tightly his fingers are wrapped around the handle of his glass.

Anthony takes his seat on the chair opposite him. "Aren't you going to offer me some of that?"

There is a moment of hesitation before Loki answers. "I believe you said you prefer scotch."

"I am open to all sorts of avenues."

If Loki detects any traces of his hint, he does not show it. "You have your own bottle, do you not?"

"You are my host. You are obligated to offer me some of whatever you are drinking. The laws of polite society dictate these strict terms." Anthony looks around for the bottle of wine; he has tried enough that he can impress most connoisseurs with his knowledge of it. "What wine is it? Camartina? Guidalberto? Pinot Noir?”

Loki presses his lips together. "None that you will have heard of."

"Excellent. Trying new things is a favourite pastime of mine."

A breath of air huffs out of Loki's nose. Oh, marvellous, getting under his skin is the most enjoyable activity Anthony has had since his encounter with the corpse.

"It is not for you."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Quite clearly: you introduced yourself only a matter of days ago."

"Yes, but I am _Anthony Stark_. Son of _Howard Stark_."

The expression that crosses Loki's face is either well-calculated innocence or genuine confusion; Anthony would be willing to gamble that Loki is skilled enough for the chances of either to be equal.

"Have I met Howard Stark before?" Loki asks.

"Not as far as I am aware."

"Then why would I know or have a care for who your father is?"

Oh. He is being sincere. Anthony is taken aback, but only for a moment.

"My father owns the largest and most successful company in steam technology in the entirety of America. I myself am in the process of inventing the world's first steam-powered warship."

"As much it pains me to inform you, steamships were invented decades ago."

"No, no. You misunderstand me. I meant the world's first steam-powered _air_ ship." That gets Loki's attention, so Anthony continues. "It is the reason I am here. I have a long and tedious series of meetings I must attend in order to be able to create full-sized prototypes of my models."

Loki takes a long and slow sip of his drink.

"This is the part where you tell me why you are here in return," Anthony prompts.

"I am out for blood," Loki says.

Anthony feels the hair on his arms stand on end and yet he cannot help himself. " _More_ blood?"

"Indeed." Loki looks to him out of the corner of his eye. "It will require more to sate my tastes."

"Hungry, then?"

Once again, Loki appears to miss the hint and he stares on ahead. "Something like that.”

* * *

Later, much later, it occurs to Anthony that Loki is not even close to as inebriated as he should be. 

Anthony has gotten through more than a third of his bottle – which, with an alcohol percentage of somewhere around the sixty mark, is a considerable amount – and yet Loki's speech remains perfectly unaltered, his movements still as sharp and precise as they ever were.

"You deceived me," Anthony accuses.

"I have been nothing but honest with you."

"I thought we would both be drinking tonight."

Loki motions to his glass and pointedly takes a sip. "Am I not drinking?"

"You are sober. A treachery of the foulest sort."

For the first time, Loki appears amused and neglects to hide it. It's a vast improvement; it adds warmth to the face that usually appears so cold, so set in stone. 

"If you will excuse me," Loki says, rising to his feet and making his way towards his bathroom. 

"Oh, don't tell me. You are refilling your glass from your mysterious source that must be kept a secret from me."

Loki grins over his shoulder. His teeth, Anthony notes, are very white and _very_ sharp. "Apparently," Loki says, "there is no need for me to tell you. You already know."

"Bastard."

The good humour vanishes. "What," Loki hisses, and suddenly he's so much closer, must have somehow moved across the span of the room in less than a second, "did you just call me?"

His hand is around Anthony's throat, and all Anthony can do is stare because no one should be able to move that fast, it should be impossible, and–

The hand tightens,

"I said," Loki repeats, "what did you just–"

"If you wish for me to speak," Anthony manages to say, "you can start by not cutting off my only airway."

Loki releases his throat. It is something Anthony is very glad for, for those truly would have been terrible last words – of course most people want him to stop speaking. Still, it doesn't negate the fact that Loki now has a firm hold of his shoulders instead of his neck. His face so close to Anthony’s own, those icy eyes glistening with red flecks that are only visible from a view this intimate.

"If it helps," Anthony says, "you have my full permission to call me a bastard any time you like."

Doubt crosses Loki's face, and he leans in closer, staring right into Anthony's eyes. "Tell me," he commands, "did you know of me before we met?"

"No." The word comes out without Anthony's consent. Odd. Though, perhaps not, given that words slipping out of his mouth often happens at the most inappropriate of times.

"Do you know of my family?"

"No." Anthony is paying more attention this time, and the blunt truth of it wasn't what he wanted to say. "You didn't even tell me your last name."

Loki lets go, allowing his arms to fall to his sides. "You were only making a harmless jest," he murmurs, half to himself. Resolve – for Anthony is now certain that is what it is, even if he is still unsure of the exact cause – makes him stand back. "Then I apologise for my untoward behaviour, Mr Stark."

"I helped you move a body," Anthony reminds him. "I think that negates such formalities, don't you? Call me by my first name, at least."

Loki's lips thin while he deliberates. "Very well." He tips his head. "Anthony."

Anthony finds he likes the way his name sounds when Loki says it. Yet what leaves his mouth when he tries to say so is, "I need to use your bathroom."

Loki waves a hand toward it.

Anthony, far more unsteady on his feet than he would like to admit, opens the door. "Huh," he says and glances back.

Loki looks up innocently. "Is something the matter?"

"I... did not anticipate having a witness while I relieved myself."

"Oh, him?"

"If by 'him', you mean the body that is still very much occupying your bathtub, then yes, _him_."

Loki stands up and makes his way closer. 

_He walks like a dancer_ , Anthony can't help but think. _How elegantly would he–_

Then Loki brushes past him to close the eyes belonging to the body, stands back, and says, "Does that satisfy you?"

“Don’t think a dead body will be enough to make me retire to my own bathroom and give you the opportunity to lock your door."

Loki holds up his hands in defence, but when he speaks his voice is light. "The things you accuse me of."

Anthony walks further into the bathroom. "I am not discouraged so easily. I am going to relieve myself, right here."

“Right there?” Loki asks, humour tugging at the corners of his eyes. “I would like to suggest that you aim somewhere that isn’t the floor.”

* * *

Anthony takes the opportunity to inspect the body afterwards – what self-respecting man would not?

The positioning of the body means that he has to clamber over it, one foot beside the man's leg and the other braced against the edge of the bathtub. There are no cuts or bruising visible to the naked eye, at least none that Anthony can see. The colour of the skin is pale, strangely loose and translucent. Curious. What if not physical injury could be the cause of death? Poisoning? In which case, the point of entry would have to have been via inhalation, digestion, or injection. He looks closer.

_There_. 

There are two marks at the base of the man's throat, small red pinpricks that look as innocuous as insect bites. 

Anthony leans in further to get a better look, almost losing his balance in the process of doing so. 

Why are there two marks? One mark he could understand, but _two?_ What poison requires two injections rather than just one?

Perhaps it would be prudent to simply ask. 

* * *

"That is correct, there would be a small amount of venom at the time of his death, yes," is Loki’s answer.

"Venom? What kind of venom? Snake venom?"

"Not quite."

"Venom from what creature, then?"

"One you would not have heard of," Loki answers tightly.

"I would rather you try rather than assume my ignorance."

Loki shakes his head. "I might find myself in more than a spot of bother if I was to tell you."

Would he? _Fascinating_.

"Why? Are you a smuggler of exotic animals?”

“No. And if you ask me any more questions about the matter of my nature then I will not deign to answer them.”

“What if I was to ask you why you killed him instead?"

"Is this the voice of your conscience speaking? Fear not, this world is better off without him occupying it."

Something about the specifics of Loki's wording makes Anthony pause. " _This_ world..." he muses. "What of other worlds?"

Loki feigns innocence. "I, of course, suggested no other worlds apart from this earth and heaven and hell."

Anthony unleashes a most ungentlemanlike snort.

"Is something amusing you, Stark?"

"I told you – my friends call me Anthony. As for your question: yes, something _is_ amusing me, and that would be your antics."

Loki makes a mockery of a gasp, something mischievous sparkling behind his eyes. "You would call the doctrine of the Christian Church an antic, Stark? Or Anthony, I should say."

"You," Anthony says with glee, "are precisely as unholy as I am."

"Hmm, I would argue a certain degree more."

"Oh?" Anthony leans closer. "How can you measure degrees of unholiness?"

"I am practically deathly allergic to churches."

"I can relate.”

Loki’s smile is a gentle thing, tinged with sadness. “Not quite in the same way, I fear. And I believe that my sins are likely to vastly outway yours."

"Have I informed you what my occupation requires of me? I design machines that bring the deaths of thousands."

Loki opens his mouth, then closes it again, and when he next speaks any lingering trances of his previous playfulness are gone. "I am a creature of abomination."

Anthony waves a hand. "Oh, in the eyes of some I am certain you are. It is something you grow accustomed to, though."

"No." The word is sharp, cutting through the air, and Loki's eyes meet his in the way that makes Anthony stop breathing. "I mean it."

"I have lied in the beds of enough men and women to have thoroughly earned the title of a creature of abomination myself." Anthony licks his lips. "I would do it again."

Loki lets out a short breath. "You misunderstand."

"The usual recommended remedy for a misunderstanding is an explanation."

Loki closes his eyes, and seconds pass before he opens them again. "My flesh is not the same as your flesh."

"Well, no." Anthony holds out their arms and yanks back their sleeves for comparison. "You are deathly pale, whereas I have what I like to believe is a healthy glow."

The muscle in Loki's jaw tightens. "I cannot consume the same foods you do."

"More deathly allergies of yours?"

Loki’s posture sags. "That is one way of referring to it."

* * *

"My father," Anthony says, after having migrated to sitting upon cushions on Loki’s floor rather than the chair, "is single-handedly the worst human being I have ever met."

"Ah, my dear fellow," Loki replies, "only because you have not met my own."

"Would you like to swap fathers?"

"Is my answer not already obvious?"

"Then the matter is settled," Anthony concludes.

"If only it would be so simple." Loki’s eyes dart, as if he is having to check that there are no other listeners before he confesses, “My father is not a good man.”

“My father is one of the richest men in the country because his trade is war.” Anthony draws in a breath. “And so am I, for that matter.”

“My father,” Loki says slowly, “the one that made me what I am, that is, he… sold my services.”

Anthony jerks upright. “He did _what?”_

“Not in _that_ way, mind you,” Loki says and Anthony relaxes ever so slightly. “He would whisper names and I would find them.”

_And kill them?_ Anthony wants to say, only Loki looks so vulnerable in admitting that much that he cannot bring himself to directly ask. “My would-be killer?” Anthony questions instead. “Was he one of the names?”

“His name was one I found out of my own volition.” A long moment of silence follows. “I prefer it that way.”

* * *

There were cushions underneath him; Anthony does not know where they have disappeared to and is currently residing on the carpet, leaning back with his weight propped up on his elbows. 

"You still have failed to catch up to me," he accuses.

Loki pauses, deliberating for a long moment, and then: "I have an offer to make you."

Anthony sits up. "I am interested."

Loki laughs. "You have not heard what it is yet."

"I'm certain that whatever it is, I would find it difficult to resist. You do happen to be somewhat... enthralling."

That earns him a certain look, though for what reason Anthony cannot tell.

"I am..." Loki trails off. "I am unable to consume alcohol directly."

"Little wonder you appeared so miserable before my arrival."

"There is, however, another way." Loki looks at him, gauging his reaction.

“Oh? Do tell."

"I shall require a further twenty minutes." Loki gets to his feet and puts on his hat and coat. "Oh, and you should be aware that I would appreciate your assistance for the second time."

* * *

The only thing that Loki requires of him is that he waits around a street corner.

Naturally, Anthony’s curiosity does not allow him to remain there and when he peers around the corner, he is surprised to find that Loki has vanished and in his place is someone who looks distinctly similar, so utterly like him, only different. A woman. 

Tony’s first thought is that she must be a twin because it seems the only plausible conclusion. Except that if Loki was to meet a hypothetical female twin of his, then where is he? There are no signs of him and no places he could have disappeared to in the number of seconds it took Anthony to spy on him.

Anthony cannot stop staring; the woman is every bit as compelling to look at as Loki himself is, only there is another element of fascination due to the mystery of it all. Her eyes are precisely the same colour, her cheekbones just as sharp, her hair just as black, and her nose is every bit as soft and regal-looking as Loki’s is. She is wearing the same clothing that Loki was.

Or perhaps even _is_. 

Anthony likes to think himself a rational man, a man of science and logic. Loki cannot have changed that radically within just a matter of seconds. There must be a more sensible answer than that. Perhaps this is an elaborate ruse. Perhaps Anthony is mistaken about their clothing being the same. Perhaps he truly _has_ drunk too much this time, though it’s never caused him to imagine anything like this in the past.

The woman – to call her Loki would be to admit that the impossible must be true – approaches a man slouched outside a saloon, whispers in his ear, then the two of them retreat into a backstreet that is out of sight. 

Anthony has no choice: he follows. Spying like this is not a habit of his; if he desires to watch this kind of act all he has to do is ask the right people. Though, as it transpires, this kind of act is not the sort he has watched before at all. The woman has her mouth to the man’s throat, but she is not merely pressing her lips to it – she is pressing her teeth _into_ it, and the man has his head thrown back in ecstasy.

A glimpse of red: blood. 

She is drinking his blood.

Then her eyes meet his and Anthony is rooted to the spot, unable to move. The woman abandons the stranger, stalks towards him, and grabs Anthony by the arm to start marching them away in the opposite direction. 

Anthony’s vision is a blur – that, he can attribute to the alcohol – and it doesn’t take long for him to lose his sense of direction; they are moving too quickly for him to keep a track of where they are.

The next time he looks at the woman, it is no longer her face that is there – it is Loki’s. Loki is the one clutching his arm and is the one steering them and Anthony cannot stop _staring_.

“You can change into a woman?” Anthony blurts out.

It is Loki’s turn to stare. “You witnessed me feeding and _that_ is the part you want to question me about?”

* * *

Loki is a vampire.

Anthony has never heard of such a thing.

The blood has changed him, Anthony can see it in Loki’s face now that he is looking for it. His skin is less pale, his pupils are dilated, and the alcohol in the blood must be affecting him because some of the natural elegance in his gait is diminished and he talks more freely, eyes alight. 

“When we are… changed,” Loki is saying, taking a turn down another street, “we retain our current forms, as if encapsulated in time.”

Anthony nods, though it is growing more and more difficult to process the events of this evening as time wears on.

Loki’s expression becomes thoughtful. “I suppose that an essence of myself must have been internally ever-shifting before I was changed.” His words are slow and cautious, as if somehow what he is saying might be the thing to finally chase Anthony away. “Therefore when I was bitten, that part of myself must have become immortalised and strengthened. Somehow that manifested in being able to shift my form completely – male and female, man and woman... It isn’t an ability I have discovered any other vampire to have. I am unique, in that fashion.”

“Is it something you can just decide to do?” 

Loki shrugs. “It is easier to lure a subject at an hour like this if I am in my female form. Other times I can simply awaken and discover that I am a woman. More often than not I am a man, but it can be unpredictable, even for me.”

“You,” Anthony says, reaching to wrap a hand around Loki’s arm, “are utterly _fascinating_.”

Loki stiffens. “Careful. Someone might see and I am not in my female form.”

But Anthony isn’t listening. “You will have to tell me all about it, of course. How does it work in terms of biology? Do you know? I have heard of certain fish and plants that can change sexes, but for it to happen in a human as you do it – that is unprecedented, surely.”

“Are you not heeding my warning?”

It is only then that Anthony processes Loki’s previous words. Ah, _that._ “The streets are virtually empty. If we are questioned, I have clearly had far too much to drink and need to rely on steadying myself on you to make my safe return.”

“Of course.” Loki bows his head. “Though I suppose I could alter my form if need be.”

“I doubt it will be necessary at this hour.” Anthony makes a show of looking around. “Though by all means, if it is something you _want_ to do then I would gladly witness it.”

Loki smiles. It is a subtle smile, one that involves only minuscule movements of his mouth, but it makes his face look far softer. “Not now, I think. I am perfectly comfortable like this.”

Anthony tries not to smile too wildly at the thought that here, arm in arm with him in a city far from home, Loki is comfortable. “Will you be, ah, requiring another drink?”

“One more feed I think should be sufficient. Providing that I am able to catch up to you." Loki shakes his head in a manner Anthony likes to believe is fond. "You have consumed a _remarkable_ amount of scotch."

"I am a man of many talents."

* * *

"Loki," Anthony says slowly. It has gotten harder and harder to talk, particularly since his scotch has long past the point of halfway depleted. He finds he likes the way Loki’s name tastes in his mouth, especially when he gets to sit this close to Loki, shoulder to shoulder at the head of Loki's bed, legs ahead of them on the mattress. "I would ask whether it’s rude for me to question you about your age, but I am neither a gentleman nor am I polite." He turns his head to get a more direct view of Loki. "So how old are you?"

Loki eyes him. "Is it a matter of great importance?"

"What it is," he replies, "is a matter of great curiosity. And, to people such as myself, a matter of great curiosity is a matter of great importance."

"If I was to tell you, you may think me... a little old for your company."

"I doubt it would deter me."

Loki turns his head, eyes assessing his as Anthony takes another sip of his drink. "Very well. I am over a thousand years of age."

Anthony chokes. "Over a _thousand_ years old?"

"Yes. Do try not to let that be the end of you."

“No, no. I said that it would not deter me, and it will not. It’s just…” He lets out a cough. “A thousand years old, you say?”

Loki nods in confirmation.

“You must have some fascinating tales.”

* * *

Dawn must be rapidly approaching, for light is seeping in through a gap between the curtains before Loki closes them properly. Anthony tries to find the idea of the night being over less disappointing – he _must_ spend time with Loki again, this cannot be allowed to only be a one-night occurrence, even if Loki’s preoccupation with blood is more than a little on the unconventional side. He needs to ask more questions about what being a vampire entails, about the events in Loki’s life leading up until his residence here, about Loki’s opinions on all things across the ocean that lies between their homelands.

"What say you to a game of whist?" Loki asks.

"I’d accept most things you propose,” Anthony answers, perhaps too honestly.

Loki makes no comment on it. "You have had many opportunities to play card games on your business ventures, I take it?"

"Far, _far_ , too many." A thought strikes him. "Though there is one way to make it more exciting."

"And what might that be?"

"The introduction of certain forfeits."

"Oh?"

"For instance, with every trick lost the loser will have to, oh, I don't know..." Anthony pretends to think long and hard about his next words. "Remove an item of clothing."

"Yes, you do seem intent on at least one of us eventually removing our clothing this evening."

Ah. So Loki is not as oblivious as he might like Anthony to assume.

"Does that mean you are accepting my suggestion?"

"Not at all. You, my friend," Loki says and Anthony finds himself warming to the descriptor despite the rejection of his proposal, "have had far more to drink than I. It would be unsporting of me to accept your offer, given how much of a disadvantage you are at."

"I don't suppose you would consider it unsporting to remove my clothing even if we weren't competing against each other?"

Loki laughs, the sound rich. Warm. He pats Anthony's shoulder and when he removes his hand, the feel of him remains. "Another time, perhaps."

Anthony is filled with sudden urgency. "Do you mean that? Will there be another opportunity?"

"My stay here will last another week before I depart."

"Only another week?"

"Let it not be said that I have not appreciated your company. In fact, I could even go as far to say that I would appreciate it again. Very much so." The corner of Loki's mouth twists upwards, and Anthony feels hope stirring in his chest. "For your helpful assistance, of course, nothing more."

"Naturally," Anthony agrees. “I’d expect nothing short of professionalism.”

"Then I am glad we are in agreement."

“And playing games with certain… forfeits? What do you say to that?”

Loki purses his lips as he thinks it over. “Be here the night after next and consider it done.”

Anthony daren't believe his luck as he holds out a hand. "We have a deal then?"

Loki takes his hand and shakes it, his skin pleasantly cool to the touch. "I look forward to reaping the rewards," he says, his grin filling with absolute wickedness, "regardless of the outcome of the cards."

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote something not angsty? Something not set in the MCU? Something that's not slow burn? Something involving an Anthony instead of a Tony? _And_ something from Tony's PoV? This is completely unheard of compared to what I usually attempt haha and though I expect stuff similar to this from me to be rare, I had fun with it. 
> 
> If you've enjoyed reading this please consider leaving a comment!


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